


Books Are Not Life

by timetiger



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-18
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2019-03-06 12:11:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13410999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetiger/pseuds/timetiger
Summary: It's 1966 and Remus and his father visit a bookshop.





	Books Are Not Life

Books Are Not Life But Then What Is?

\-- Title of a collection of essays by Marvin Mudrick (1921–1986) 

 

“Do you remember this place? You’ve been coming here for a long time now – ever since you were a baby.” 

“Of course,” said seven-year-old Remus John Lupin, ducking under his father’s arm and solemnly entering Flourish & Blotts. It was a haven of quiet and order on this hot June day, and quiet as it nearly always was, except for a few weeks toward the end of every summer. Remus stopped first at the Astronomy section, in accordance with their ancient ritual.

“Can we look at the stars tonight, Dad?” 

David Lupin had hoped Remus wouldn’t ask again. He had quickly learned to hate the idea of his son ever going outside after nightfall. Still, chances for happiness had become drastically reduced in recent days, and the waning moon could do the boy no harm. The healers at St. Mungo’s had agreed on that much.

He smiled. “Yes, why not? Would you like a picnic?”

Remus nodded. “Can Mum come, too?”

“Mum mustn’t tire herself just now. You’ll be getting a brother or sister soon, and Madame Sedge wants Mum to get as much rest as she can.”

Remus nodded at this too. He was a remarkably understanding little boy, his father thought. The pity of it was there was so much for him to understand. His mother Miranda’s difficult pregnancy was the reason she couldn’t come with them to St. Mungo’s this morning, the reason Remus could only play the piano very softly, when he must have -- must have -- wanted to bang and bang.

David took down a huge volume of star charts, the one half again as big as his son. He tapped the gold lettering on the spine with his wand, and it unfolded and unfurled until they seemed to be standing under a pitch black sky in early winter.

“Look,” said David, using his wand as a pointer. “There’s the North Star and the Great Bear.

“And the Small Bear, too,” said Remus, pointing with his finger.

“Well done you,” said his father, with a squeeze to his shoulder. 

A meteor arced overhead and Remus shivered with delight. His father hesitated, and then told him, “I’ve heard when Muggles see a shooting star they make a wish.” Remus looked thoughtful at this and, after a moment, his father looked back up at the sky which was really the ceiling of Flourish & Blotts. He lifted Remus up in time for the last of the meteor’s trail to run through the boy’s fingers, and then the book was a book again. 

Their next stop was always Natural History. David Lupin walked carefully between his son and several shelves of books with teeth. Arriving at the plant and animal section, Remus turned to his father and asked, ”Can I have a pet hedgehog?” 

“Hedgehogs don’t like to be pets,” observed a small but very definite voice from the shadows.

“Why ever not?” asked Remus, as if he’d been talking to whoever-it-was all his life.

“I don’t know, but they’ll stick you if you try to pet them.” A pale, dark-haired boy David judged to be about his son’s age came toward them. “If you give them bread and milk, they might eat it. If they feel like it,” he elaborated.

“Are hedgehogs magical, Dad?” asked Remus. 

“You’re thinking of knarls,” said his father, including both boys in his answer. “They look like hedgehogs, but they’re not nearly so good-tempered. And they very much dislike being petted.”

“Snakes don’t mind it,“ said the other boy, thoughtfully. “Only my father says not to get too close to the really big ones.” His clothes were formal and somewhat old-fashioned, and far too heavy for the day. 

“Can I have a pet snake, Dad?” Remus wanted to know.

“We’ll see,” said David, pretending to be very much distracted by the book he was taking down. He longed to buy a pet for Remus – something soft and cuddly, but active and intelligent, as well – but who could tell how an animal might react in the days when the moon was waxing and the wolf was drawing near? If would be unbearable if the boy’s beloved puppy or kneazle or ridiculous hedgehog should become afraid of him. “This is a book about elephants, which-cannot- be-pets,” he said, displaying the front cover.

“They’re not magical at all,” the said the dark-haired boy dismissively.

“No, but listen to this,” said David. “’The average adult elephant is as big as a lorry, with ears the size of cupboard doors. Its nose is very like a snake, and is the elephant’s hand and drinking straw and shower nozzle.’” The book trumpeted thrillingly at this.

Remus stood close. “Elephants are sometimes hunted and killed for their tusks,” he read. “By bad people”, he added, although the text was not explicit on this point.  
A few hours earlier David had learned that werewolf fur was a highly-valued potion ingredient, and werewolf blood and bones yet more so.

“I bet a Giant could keep a pet elephant,” the other boy was musing. 

“Are there any Giants in Diagon Alley, Dad?” Remus wanted to know. His friend looked very interested in the question as well.

“I’ve never noticed any,” said David. He was feeling the most curious mixture of relief and heartbreak at seeing his son carry on precisely as if the world had not been broken into shards two weeks before. And no one in the wide world save Miranda would understand, because only she would be feeling that way, too. He had been naïve enough to expect sympathy at St. Mungo’s. Madame Sedge, who lived in their village, had been her usual kind and motherly self, but had frankly admitted to knowing very little about lycanthropy. She had been reluctant to say much at all about the boy’s prognosis, though she healed his bite wounds skillfully enough and gave him draughts that let him sleep.

David supposed he should be grateful that just one of the St. Mungo’s healers had openly displayed disgust. The man took himself off elsewhere straight away, looking as though a vile smell had escaped into the room and he was going to be sick. The rest conducted their examinations with disquieting detachment. Remus bore it all with a stoicism that his father found disturbing. The boy had been silent three entire days after the attack, and David was afraid it was starting all over again.

“A Giant could have any sort of pet he wanted,” the other boy was saying.

“Perhaps we could put an advert in the Prophet. Two boys would like to meet a Giant.” 

They grinned at one another. 

David paid for the book about elephants, and one about back-garden astronomy, and one he had chosen for Miranda about magic in ancient Greece and Rome. It was an unaccountable interest of hers. 

The only other customer in the shop was a tall black-haired man in woolen robes. He was arguing loudly about something with the bookseller (whether Mr. Flourish or Mr. Blott David had never known). 

“Excuse me, sir,” David said to the black-haired man, when he thought he could make himself heard. The man spun around at once, and looked at David as though he would like to hit him. 

“Our sons seem to have struck up a friendship,” David went on, trying to smile and finding it very difficult. “I though I might buy them each an ice cream.” 

The man, whose large aquiline nose appeared to have been broken at some point in the past (and no wonder, thought David, if you’re always this provoking) continued staring for several seconds, and then swept away in a whirl of robes.

“Severus! I told you to wait for me where I left you, boy.” 

There was a sound like a slap, then loud crack which meant Disapparation, and the Lupins were left alone with the shopkeeper.

“I should refuse to allow him in here!” Mr. Flourish (or Mr. Blotts) was fuming. “I should sic a flesh-eating festschrift on him!”

David found Remus, and putting his hand on his shoulder led him outside, into the scorching June day. “Chocolate ice cream?” he asked, and waited a long time for his son to answer.


End file.
